Puff, Puff, Pass

Hello, yes it's me. Miss Bad Blogger. The holidays can go either way really. Some years I have next to nothing going on so I'm blogging away about this and that and other years I'm so busy that I'll be walking down the street thinking some random thought and taking a mental note to blog it later and then I'm distracted by whatever bakery I pass or some odd smell (pine, good. homeless, bad). This holiday is busy. I know I said I wasn't going to use that word… so let me rephrase. This holiday has been hectic. You already know I'm moving, work is full throttle until break, I have 3 freelance projects going at once (not complaining, I love you freelance clients. You rock my world!) and I'm trying to find the energy to begin running again and possibly pick boxing back up.

In the midst of everything I've been cooking and baking lots. So much that I haven't been able to post any of the recipes. I hope that someone out there takes a chance and cooks something I post because they really are tried and true. Either way, it's nice to bookmark recipes so that I can go back to them from time to time. I just sat down after prepping tonight's dinner for Chris and I. The menu is comprised of roasted brussel sprouts, garlic and rosemary potatoes and lemon chicken. After dicing and chopping and having everything ready to boil, brown and bake I sat down to work on freelance and thought… one quick post. 

A month or so ago I picked up November's issue of Bon Appetite and tried to cook my way through it. I think the favorite dish was the spinach puffs. I made these during hurricane Sandy. My supermarket was surprisingly stocked and I was itching for some sort of a project. I set to these puffs and ate the entire pan myself. Not in one day though, I'm not that disgusting. They are delicious and like most things I post, easy. I would suggest whipping these up for a dinner party because they taste very impressive and require minimal ingredients. My only recommendation is that you use a mini muffin pan. These are a bit big so I think if I were to serve them to guests, I'd make them more bite size and easy to eat. I was unable to purchase the frozen puff pastry so I made crust and rolled it thinly to line the pan. I also used fresh spinach where the recipe called for frozen. Enjoy!

Ingredients

1 cup chopped fresh spinach

1/2 cup crumbled feta

1/4 cup minced onion

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 teaspoon chopped dill

1 teaspoon minced garlic

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 large eggs

1 sheet frozen puff pastry (from a 17.3-ounce package), thawed, rolled out to a 12-inch square, kept chilled (or sub homemade crust, just scroll down some here)

Chop up your spinach and mix with next 5 ingredients in a medium bowl. Season to taste with salt and pepper. In a separate small bowl, beat 1 egg to blend; fold into spinach mixture. 

Cut puff pastry into 3 equal strips. Reserve 1 strip for another use. Cut each remaining strip into 3 squares for a total of 6. Place a square in each muffin cup, pressing into bottom and up sides and leaving corners pointing up. Divide filling among cups. Fold pastry over filling, pressing corners together to meet in center. If you make your crust just be sure to roll it to about 1/4" thin.

Preheat oven to 400°. Beat remaining egg to blend in a small bowl. Brush pastry with egg wash (this will give the pastry a nice sheen). Bake until pastry is golden brown and puffed, about 25 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack; let puffs cool in pan for 10 minutes. Run a sharp paring knife around pan edges to loosen; turn out puffs onto rack to cool slightly before serving.

original recipe bon appetite magazine

that's a wrap

As the year wraps up so am I. All of my projects seem to be coming to a close at work (new ones on their way no doubt), I'm crossing off errands and year long to-do lists are getting shorter and shorter. Even my Christmas shopping is near complete, something that never usually begins until about December 15th. I've shared so much on suddenly lovely that I feel that a change in my life should be somewhat ceremonially put into words and up on the blog. I am physically wrapping up everything I own, I am moving to Brooklyn.

A little over a year ago I wrote about my then current roommate's decision to move out of our cozy 2 bedroom upper west side apartment to an apartment where her and her boyfriend would share the space. Looking back at what I had wrote, I can assure you that I've become one of those absolutely crazy s.o.b.'s that claim "when you know you know." Because now I know and guess what, it's true that another borough has enough room to house both our physical and emotional space.

My first ever apartment (student housing for a summer internship) was in Brooklyn Heights right off the Clark Street stop on the 2, 3. I loved everything about that neighborhood. I was scared to death to use the subway, spent Saturday and Sunday mornings along the water just admiring New York City and it became a definite reason why I returned to the city once I graduated college. Coming up on 4 years of working in NYC I am thrilled to be returning to Brooklyn of a new neighborhood. East Williamsburg is an up and coming neighborhood which I've come to love and will soon call home.

I currently reside in a smallish 2 bedroom apartment on the upper west side. I say smallish because to anyone unaware of the typical/affordable NYC apartment, my place is hellishly small but to someone more aware of the apartment situation in the city and the absurd rent then my apartment isn't so bad. I live a block from Central Park and the American History Museum. I am chatty with my neighbors, my grocery store clerks, the trainers at my gym, the supers on my entire block and the bodega owner. I've been there for 2 years now which is just long enough for me to soak up all that I can of the neighborhood. Plus, in moving to Brooklyn I gain a private deck with so much potential for a garden.

More so than the garden, I gain the experience of living with my significant other. Both of us being designers means we can equally geek out at the wonderful studio space we are setting up in the second bedroom. As we combine our things and bring the apartment to life I can't help but look back at the space between and wonder who that was writing the post. Who knew so much could happen in a year. Maybe in 12 months I'll be looking back at this post and wondering the same thing. Time will tell. Hello Brooklyn.

two

 I feel like one of those parents who says good morning to their child and then half way through the day looks at the calendar to realize that today is their own child's birthday - and they forgot. Hurry to the store and get a cake, what was that something they wanted from that store, do they like chocolate or vanilla, over spend, over decorate, happy birthday! no we didn't FORGET we've been planning to surprise you all along!

Today is suddenly lovely's two year birthday. I've written 162 posts inspired from my past, present and future. They are babbles of mine that have turned into a place for me to recall recipes, places I've been and people I've known.

From the past year, below are the three posts that stuck out most to me.
The most truthful: Don't Stay
The most delish: Scrumptious Scone
STILL the most read: Naked Truth

I still am completely taken back when people reference suddenly lovely. It means so much that someone (anyone really) reads this. Thank you for reading, putting up with my bad grammar and spelling and for saying little things here and there to me about a post or picture that stuck with you. I hope that for maybe a few minutes a day at work while you have your lunch or need a break you can click around here and find something that you enjoy.

less is more

I awoke from the sun beaming in from outside. A cool fall breeze from the window and in the arms of a man who loves me very much and all I could do was whine and complain.

I had no makeup, deodorant, clean clothes, face wash, comfortable shoes. My head hurt, my arm hurt from a flu vaccine days prior, my jaw sore from my apparent teeth grinding sleep. I could hear how annoying, bratty and selfish I sounded but I kept going on and on. Why was the sun so bright and why did the landlord choose Saturday morning to replace the siding (this was the only fair complaint since they began hammering at 8am). Chris, my boyfriend who spoiled me with a movie and dinner the night prior, listened and didn't interrupt as I went on and on. After a pause in my banter, mostly because I was probably looking for other things to bitch about he simple said, "Maybe you need too many things."

I fired back that I didn't think clean underwear was too much to ask but throughout the day and entire weekend the question stuck with me - do I really need so much?

With the change of the season I've found myself wanted more things. Hats, shoes, gadgets, beauty products, jewelry, everything really. I want these times but what is more alarming is that I feel I deserve these things. Why a $60 candle? Well because I earned it. I work hard goddammit so if I want my room to smell like one big fancy rose, so be it. When I come back down to earth I realize how stupid that line of reasoning is. You know what I really need? A big reality check.

I need the basics. Food, water, shelter and a job. I do not need $25 lipstick, $60 candles or an $800 watch. I have plenty of clothes to layer for the fall and winter, a heavy jacket, a hat, a cabinet of soup and to be honest, too much lipstick already. Having all I need is a blessing I seem to lose touch with all too often. My ego gets the best of me and the situation, convincing me that these things will somehow improve my life quality. What will however is wanted less. A current yoga lesson brought up the idea of taking less. Taking only what you need so there is more for everyone around you. Why does that sound so simple and easy but when I'm standing in the middle of Bloomingdale's I have this incredible pressure that if I do not have that DVF scarf that would mean no groceries for two weeks that I can't keep it in the front of my mind?

So it begins - the constant mantra of needing and wanting less. Taking what I have and seeing it all as blessings rather than burdens. And most of all to stop whining so much. No one wants to hear that.

i fall for fall

And just like that, summer is over. I've been in a blissful state now that things have cooled down. Sleeping with the windows open with the cool air coming in has left me rested and ready to start the day each morning. With fall comes a change of weather and some fun additions to my lifestyle. The Balenciaga buckle ankle boots are an ideal wardrobe staple but let's face it, I need to pay rent instead. (A girl can dream) Alexander Wang coin purse for my metro card, more film for my mini polaroid camera, MOR candle to scent my room, ck one pure color lipstick in lip lock for a perfect berry pout, cider donuts which I can not say no to at every flea market, a Movado watch in rose gold and gold stamped Kate Spade note cards to write well wishes to friends and family this season. Rock on fall, I love you.

a day away

  80 some minutes outside of the city in the Hudson Valley is Beacon, New York. By taking Metro-North out of Grand Central Station you can take the east line towards Poughkeepsie, get off at Beacon and find yourself a short walk from Dia:Beacon. Taken directly from the museums brochure;

Dia:Beacon, Riggio Galleries opened in May 2003 as the presentation facility for the collection and a series of exhibitions and performances. Dia:Beacon occupies a former Nabisco box-printing factory build in 1929 and offers 240,000 square feet of exhibition space, most of which is illuminated by natural light. In collaboration with the architecture firm OpenOffice, artist Robert Irwin designed the interior spare, the building vestibule and forecourt, as well as the surrounding landscape.

Assembled during the 1970s and early 1980s, Dia's original collection includes artworks by Joseph Beuys, John Chamberlain, Walter De Maria, Dan Flavin, Donald Judd, Imi Knoebel, Blinky Palermo, Fred Sandback, Franz Erhard Walther, Andy Warhol, and Robert Whitman.

I know being a graphic designer that most would think that I adore art museums of all sorts and visit them on a frequent basis but it's quite the opposite. I enjoy all art but don't mind admiring it from afar, say a website or a book. I appreciate it but it needs to be something pretty absurd and interesting to get my butt in front of it. The trip to Dia:Beacon was spur-of-the-night-before and promised a pretty train ride and a cute town to boot. The town is more or less a drag but I recommend the museum to everyone who has the time. Go when it's bright and sunny out so you can appreciate the great sky lights and naturally light artwork. Walking through and being able to really grasp the space the collection took up made each exhibit special and exciting. The museum's interior design caters to each artist. It fits comfortably in the space. I was so affected by the light that while I was left feeling a bit down after a walk through main street (think sad, slow forgotten town) that I was almost instantly snapped back and energized to go through each and every part of the space.

My personal favorites was the Agnes Martin and Michael Heizer collections. Quite different but equally engaging I found myself thinking about the entire trip to Dia:Beacon for the rest of the weekend. So if you have the time and want to get out of the city for a few hours I highly recommend the trip.

dream a little dream

There are so many steps. They begin at a normal height and width but continuously grow taller and wider so that I have to sit down and skooch to the edge on my butt to get to the next. I'm trying to get to the bottom because I am late. Full of anxiety and a rush of adrenaline because I know I'm going to take a bad step and fall. Smooth, cool metal. Blue hue with a perfect brushed metal texture. The steps, they slant at the most absurd angle. Look up to take a breath to see the most modern looking chandelier full of small metal loops. They hang down and look like rain falling from the sky. I continue going down.

Sometimes when I wake up I have a lingering dream that is just out of reach to recall. Sometimes though the details are so vivid that I swear it wasn't a dream at all. All those fucking steps. Even my hands were cool enough to have made me think I really was using them to guide me down as they grew more steep. So I got up and went to the bathroom. I keep a small guide to dream book on the back of the toilet. I mostly love the illustrations but time to time when I have an alarming dream, something so vivid, I'll take a peek. Brushing my teeth I found "steps."

Ascended + Descending
280 Steps and Stairs
With its rhythmic motion, going up and down steps or stairs presents a Freudian symbol of intercourse. A long, straight staircase is something a phallic symbol, just a the stairwell may symbolize the female genitalia. More modern interpretations may view climbing stairs as an expression of personal growth and developing emotional maturity. Descending or falling down stairs may express anxiety about "climbing too high" in some aspect of your life - that is, overestimating your abilities.

Well I'll be damned. Spot on. Recovering from surgery which links me to the Freudian symbol of female genitalia (Sorry to be so… honest here). And for the modern interpretation, I have a terrible habit of promising more to people in life and at work that sometimes I'm able to handle. I've been spread a bit thin lately but working on being more conscious of what I can achieve and within what time limit. I'm trying to climb high, as high as humanly possible. But climbing up requires a good foundation and confidence for each step. I never did fall in my dream. I reached the bottom and literally smashed through the last step. Yeah, take that weird dream.

putting on the spritz

Recently my days have been… stressful to say the least. Times where I feel stretched to my limit always remind me of endless hours spent in the design studio. Another student who was a year ahead of me always seemed to be on top of her game, even in times of complete chaos. You would never know that she had been in the studio all night because she presented herself calm, cool and collected. Lipstick on, hair clean and neat. She gave me a bit of advice that has stuck with me since that day. "I always try to look nice because getting dressed and putting on my makeup is sometimes the only good part of my day."

When I feel beat up because of the daily grind sometimes I wear my favorite dress or lipstick to pick me up. I may feel like I'm falling apart but that doesn't mean I need to look it. More than anything my fragrance picks me up the most. Above is what currently is on display on my bureau.

Top row, left to right: Coco Mademoiselle, Chanel Chance, Balenciaga Paris, Balenciaga L'Essence and Bottega Veneta. Bottom row, left to right: LAVANILLA Laboratoreis Vanilla Grapefruit, Vera Wang Lovestruck, Clinique Happy, Prada Infustion d'Iris and Marc Jacobs Splash in Fig (no longer available).

Glamorama

For one week every fall, girls all around the metro area get up extra early. They carefully put on their makeup, style their hair, match their bags to their shoes and go on a Starbucks binge. They critique every seam, stitch and zipper and upon discovery of any new name and a Starbucks fueled fury, blast their twitter, instagram and facebook with their knowledge of fashion. These girls breathe fashion. They stuff their toes into heels in hope to get photographed standing around looking chic at Lincoln Center. Suddenly what's not in, is in and the whole city feels like I'm living in some Glamorama spin off. (Less fucked up but just as bewildering.)

Everyone is asking me or telling me rather what show they saw, which model or celebrity they stumbled upon at the Le Bain fashion night out party. By telling me I mean scream/speaking on their iphones walking down the street or to their other fashion friend on the subway. PR girls everywhere are skipping lunch to go see Opening Ceremony but of course it was so worth it and what is lunch when fashion can fill you up anyway. Skipping lunch is the fashion equivalent to dying a thousand deaths in the name of a designer.

In the name of fashion, all PR, magazine and self-proclaimed style authorities should keep their voices down and conversations to themselves. And please stand somewhere else looking awkwardly chic but without-caring-I-look-this-odd-everyday-because-I'm-an-individual-with-a-creative-flair. I would like to get to yoga on time.

P.S. There is lipstick on your teeth.

quiche me

I have a confession. While I've been fully moved out of my parents house for 7 years, it wasn't until roughly the last summer that I've taking an interest in actually cooking for myself. I am a living example that one can live on eggs, toast, waffles and soup. It wasn't that I couldn't cook but cooking for one always seemed a bit dramatic. City living doesn't make it any easier either. I walk past 10+ delicious restaurants on my way to the market, then have to lug everything I bought back home and then use my barbie-sized kitchen to prepare a meal that may or may not turn out the way the picture looked online. My daily routine consisted of working late, running a few miles and then satisfying my hunger with whatever took the least amount of time. I always felt cranky, tired and suffered from sweeps of anxiety. Something had to change.

Change one, new apartment and neighborhood. Suddenly there were markets all around me that didn't charge $10.00 for mustard. Change two, a new job. 40 hour weeks rather than 50-60 hours. Change three, I got really sick of eggs, toast, waffles and soup. I also watched a lot of Top Chef at my first apartment in Hoboken. I'm not sure why exactly but eventually all those episodes sparked something in me. A commitment to a healthy mind and body, I began to cook. 

I started small. Basic chicken, seafood and dips. Guacamole became a staple in my world last summer. I didn't cook for anyone but myself. I would think back to Top Chef were the challenge was to whip up a 5 star meal in 15 minutes. Well I had 2 hours and aimed at about 3 stars, how hard could it be? I learned to cut recipes down to simple fresh ingredients. What the staples were in whatever I was preparing and what might improve the meal depending on fresh produce or what I was craving. I often pretended that I was hosting my own cooking show to an invisible 20 something crowd. A very casual, "I was just like you once, didn't know a mince from a chop but look at me now," cue severely professional knife skills.  

You've (whoever you are that reads my random internet thoughts) probably caught on to the more food related posts within the last year. More recently I've started cooking not just for myself but for my boyfriend. Prep work is my favorite. Happily dicing up onions while mascara tears stream down my face or pulling basil leaves apart and measuring flour, sugar, etc. Thinking about the day, putting worries to rest, focusing on the equation of ingredients rather than what needs to be completed at the office. More than anything an importance on slowing down. Why rush the process? There is no race against the clock. Sip water, breathe in, smell lemon and garlic, warm up the oil, warm up the oven. My most recent work is quiche. Inspired by a quiche my good friend Erin used to make at my first job and by a more recent bite at The Blue Stove in Williamsburg. The recipe below and for anyone who has never made crust, this crust is very simple and easy. I was sure that this would be the crust that ruined my cooking run but alas, perfectly golden. Enjoy.

crust

1 1/4 cups of flour

1/2 cup butter, chilled and diced

 1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup ice water

Combine flour and salt in a bowl. Cut in butter until mixture resembles crumbs. Stir in water, a tablespoon at a time, until mixture forms a ball. Refrigerate while you prep the filling. Roll dough out to fit a 9 inch pie plate. Place crust in pie plate. Press the dough evenly into the bottom and sides of the pie plate.

filling

6 large eggs, beaten

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

salt and pepper

2 cups chopped fresh baby spinach, packed

1 pound bacon, cooked and crumbled

1 1/2 cups shredded Swiss cheese

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Combine the eggs, cream, salt, and pepper in a bowl and whisk together. Layer the spinach and cheese in the bottom of the pie crust. Add bacon to the the egg mixture then pour on top of cheese and spinach. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes until the egg mixture is set.

original recipes for quiche and crust

busy bee

The New York Times recently wrote an article about all of us being oh-so-busy. The most alarming thing about this article was that I felt like I was reading an excerpt from my daily dialogue. I've found since moving to New York City that I've often been too busy to go to the gym, eat healthy, dress well, see friends, see family, take a vacation, take a lunch, take a coffee break and/or date. After reading I made a pact with myself that whenever anyone asks me how I've been or how my day was, I cannot respond with "busy." Even if it was the most busy day of my entire life, I have to find another word to describe my day or current state. Being busy has become my default state and an excuse for anything I don't want to do. There are 24 hours in the day, for heaven's sake no one is that busy.

There are times to buckle down but there are also times where stepping outside for lunch or leaving on time so that you can take a run around the neighborhood can be the most important and inspirational. I owe some of this to the culture around my job. I'm told often to take a break or leave so that I am well rested or can enjoy the beautiful day. Would you ever hear a heart surgeon complain about how busy they are? I'm not saving lives designing perfume and cosmetic packaging so why am I complaining and using "busy" as an excuse to avoid having to put in extra work or time with friends and family?

Yesterday was educational. I collaborated with a sister company on a project, spoke to a vendor about the best way to achieve a design, searched for images for an upcoming campaign, organized glass inspiration and stepped out for a 45 minute lunch where I sat in Herald Square and wrote a postcard out to my family. If I would have said my day was busy then no one would have wanted to hear me complain about having to do all the things above. Busy seems to have a negative outlook. I don't want to be busy anymore, I want to be involved.

on trial

There comes a moment where two people decide to share a space. Ive written before about not yet coming into that moment but when my past roommate left to move in with her boyfriend she explained it better than I ever could. She reasoned that "not being together became far more inconvenient than being together in separate spaces." Or something like that. Traveling back and forth was tiring, lugging your things, forgetting certain things, mistakenly trying to pay for coffee by flipping extra underwear on the counter (true story) got old. While I completely believed her, I still didn't think that moment would happen to me. Especially because of the two week trial.

Between leases my then boyfriend moved in for two weeks. At the end of the two weeks I remember being alarmingly relieved. It was shitty of me but I realized that while I really liked him, I didn't really like him there all the time. We would knock into each other, step on each other, glance over like "oh you again." I had no idea that I felt this way until those two weeks were over. I kept thinking, what if we had moved into together. Signed over in blood for a 12 month lease in which, we may have ended up killing each other or worse, broke up and still had to share a space. He was clean, nice, respectful, etc. etc. but something didn't fit. It was those two puzzle pieces that totally look like they fit together but when placed together you realize the cardboard is cut a little to the right or left and then back into the pile they go. You have to keep searching.

On July 2nd while doing a weekly strip down of my apartment I smoothed out my bedding when something caught my eye. A bug. A small bug on my bed. Since then while the apartment is in my mind completely and totally unlivable I have been staying in a far, far away place known as Williamsburg, Brooklyn. A far cry from the Upper West Side and quite literally on the other side of the rainbow. In the cab ride over that night I remember thinking, this may be the two week trial and the dread that followed. I couldn't go back to my apartment if I wanted to. Everything has been flipped, cleaned, sealed and every inch poisoned. I thought sure, we spend a ton of time together but what if after 5 days straight he starts to hate me or me hate him. What if he's secretly a freak? What if he sees that I'm secretly a freak? (Meanwhile we had already discussed that we like each other because we are both freak-like in our own respectful manner.) The moment that I told him the two week trial story and he looked at me, squeezed my hand twice and said something along the lines of "well, we'll see."

It's been 15 days and I'm still at his place. My makeup is in the cabinet. Some of my dresses hang in the closet. I've purchased extra ice cube trays and set measuring cups in the kitchen. I pretend his snoring doesn't bother me because it actually doesn't. He hands me my mouth guard before I fall asleep so that I don't wake up with headaches from biting down impossibly hard in my sleep. I wake up to my alarm just like I used to, I brush my teeth and blow dry my hair. Sometimes we walk to the subway together and sometimes one of us has to leave before the other. Once he went to the grocery store for me so that I could make us dinner when I got home. He didn't even realize that it made me so happy, that gesture of picking up the ingredients. Mostly because it has been easy, simple and overwhelmingly enjoyable. He reminds me to drink more water and I remind him to brush his teeth before bed. We always say good night and good morning. The oddest things I've learned in 15 days about this person that I'm sharing a space with. The most wonderful times when he asks me to dance while the water boils before dinner. When he brings me two options of lemonade from the store because he wasn't sure which I'd prefer. (The answer is both.)

I still have my place on the Upper West Side and eventually will move on back. While I hate the fact that a bug forced this upon both of us, I am finding it very assuring that we've past the two week mark by two days and we're both still alive. We've learned a lot, like how much I hate blueberry pancakes and how he used to eat way too much pizza. So while I've been away from the blog, I've been here in his apartment in Brooklyn. I can see the city from the deck but am in no rush to escape back. After all, home is where the heart is.